


little black death

by makeashadow_ao3



Series: It's a Pretty Fixation [1]
Category: The Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: F/M, hell if i know, is it ghosts?, is it zombies?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-24
Updated: 2018-10-24
Packaged: 2019-08-07 03:57:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16400900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/makeashadow_ao3/pseuds/makeashadow_ao3
Summary: It’s not the earth’s fault for dying, it’s what’s buried below.





	little black death

**Boo-Kai 2k18**  
Day 1: _Samhain_

_little black death_

 

There’s a clearing up ahead and she pushes past the brush towards it.

It’s nearing midnight and Grams always warned her about being out this late, on this night of all nights, without protection. Yet here she is under the bright glow of the full moon on Halloween, _Samhain_ , alone and stumbling through the woods.

Tonight is the night when the veil between the living and dead is the thinnest, but that shouldn’t matter, should it? The Other Side is a painful memory, but a memory all the same. There was either oblivion or peace for the supernatural departed. Her powers now are the strongest they’ve ever been. She ain’t afraid of no ghost. And yet…

The treeline breaks, bushes ripping the cheap tights cobwebbing the goosebumps on her thighs. It’s not a large space, withered grass around a dead oak tree. Above her head is a starless sky, the red harvest moon looming towards Earth. Logically, during the day the sun hits this spot unencumbered so the grass should be lush and thriving despite the coming cold weather. The branches should still retain much of their leaves. No. The ground where she stands is dead and has been for a while.

She was having a drink, a spiked apple cider around the bobbing for apples station at the Heaven or Hell costume party. Caroline was elated to see her. When was the last time they did Halloween properly? _Junior year of high school?_ And Bonnie even dressed up. Marigolds in her chocolate tendrils, fishnet stocking, and a maroon slip dress which could double as a sexy nightgown.

A thick sweater or light winter coat would be nice against the cool temperature, her nipples pebbling against the thin fabric, but she doesn’t shiver. Crushing pine cones and leaves eaten away by tree rot under her boots, she steps around the dirt patch and places the flat of her hand to the trunk. Eyelids shutter closed as Latin tumbles from her lips before the incantation fully forms in her mind. Slowly, life is breathed into the gnarled tree, sprouts rooting in the chipped bark.

In her daze, her eyes lift to the figure standing at the edge of the clearing. It shifts and alarm bells ring at a low decibel in her foggy mind. She backs into the tree, _her tree_ , the bark scraping her satin skin. The shadow draws closer, a boot kicking out and nudging at a root poking up from the ground. “I wasn’t sure you’d come.”

“This can’t- You’re not- I-” Every aborted thought gets caught in her throat. “You’re dead.”

“Really? I’ve never felt more alive.” He towers over her, the moonlight through the now thriving tree revealing his face. Dried blood paints the pale skin of his right temple down the side of his face and across his neck like he had an unfortunate meeting with a garrote. No. Just the hand of a thwarted vampire.

The pieces, as if soaked in molasses, begin to stitch together. It’s not the earth’s fault for dying, it’s what’s buried below. She never knew what the Salvatore vampire did with the body, well, bodies. There was an entire coven to dispose of. She never thought to ask.

A hand with nails caked with grime and dirt extends out and falls unceremoniously on her shoulder. She wonders if the dead can feel. Do the pain and pleasure receptors work for the reanimated? Ironically, she’s not familiar with the science of necromancy. His tongue darts out to lick his bottom lip, but there’s no moisture to spare. “I need a favor.”

His breath fans across her face and she flinches from what she expects to smell like putrid decomposition. He looks like roadkill, mangled in a tattered tuxedo just as he did the last time she laid eyes on him. There is no scent, though, just a soft tickle of wind on her cheek. She meets his hungry gaze and her lips loosen. He’s not real. He’s a figment. She drank a little too much and the spookiness of the holiday prompted this very creepy dream. It wouldn’t be her first featuring him.

“You’re dead. You’re not real,” she chokes out. The rough bark of her tree bites into her flesh, but there’s no escaping him. One of his heavy hands roams down her arm, fingers tapping at her veins, while the other rests on the trunk next to her head. He’s got her boxed in with his broad chest heaving inhales like he’s got nothing inside but greedy lungs.

“I’m as real as you are.” The roaming hand loses interest in her bare skin and finds her waist. She gasps when his thumb rubs silk over the puckered scar under her breast. He hums in appreciation at the shudder wracking her warm body. _She’s so warm._ “I’m hungry, Bon.”

“The dead don’t eat. I would know.”

His thick tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth as he swallows. “Which brings us back to that favor I need.”

Bonnie has a kind of companionship with the dead. She’s been in their realm. She communes with those who have passed and those who have lingered. Whether she intended to or not, she traded her life for Jeremy Gilbert and teetered on the line of doing the same for his sister. But the specter of Kai Parker filling his nose with the fragrance of the flowers in her hair… This is _intimate_.

A flush heats her up, skin reddening and stomach turning. His thumb has found a home, its pad resting perfectly between the lips of the kiss-like scar. The grip of his hand on her ribcage is firm, so putting up a fight would be futile. He’d find a way to worm his way closer to her, into her. A maggot come to feast on the decay of a run-over doe.

“What, what do you want?”

His lips curl into a snarl, white teeth tucked into black gums. Jerks her against him, he huffs and she thinks a phantom shouldn’t feel like this solid. He steps backward and drags her with him. The tip of her boot catches the uncovered root, her body keening forward. Her arms instinctively stretch out to gain purchase in his embrace, but he backs away and lets her fall. Twigs snap under her knees and palms, further ripping her stockings and drawing blood.

Her jade eyes momentarily stare into his ravenous grey ones before his attention drops to the patch of ground where she kneels.

“Dig.”

**Author's Note:**

> i made a whole ass google doc laying out every piece of content i wanted to publish for boo-kai 2k18, and yet today comes and i still woke up to a blank document. this is...different for me, in a good way i think. i really like this drabble, although i feel as if i was partially possessed writing it. ah, well. happy boo-kai!


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